


Maybe gloves are the true meaning of love

by Rosaliss



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Like, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, anyway, it's about presents but, not seasonal, or you're welcome i don't know how you feel about seasonal fics tbh, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 12:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17182895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosaliss/pseuds/Rosaliss
Summary: "Grantaire had a real talent with presents. Enjolras, on the other hand, was pretty terrible. And, in that particular day, desperate."Enjolras wants to do something special for Grantaire's birthday, but he's just really, really bad at it.





	Maybe gloves are the true meaning of love

During their three years of acquaintance and one and a half year of relationship, Enjolras had discovered that Grantaire was good at many things that he was not. For example, Grantaire could understand art and Enjolras could not; Grantaire was good at cooking and Enjolras wasn’t; Grantaire was great at interacting with strangers, far more friendly that Enjolras, with his intimidatory attitude, could even dream of being. But, most importantly, Grantaire had a real talent with presents. Enjolras, on the other hand, was pretty terrible. And, in that particular day, desperate.

Grantaire’s birthday was in a few days and Enjolras wanted to give him something special and romantic. The previous occasion had been their one year anniversary, some months before, when Grantaire had surprised him with a picnic at night time; the two of them laid down on the grass, with some cookies and a glass of fine wine (only one, seen Grantaire’s troubled past with alcohol and Enjolras’s general distrust towards it), surrounded by lanterns that mirrored the stars in the sky. Whispers in the dark, soft chuckles that faded into the air, fingers intertwined, eyes locked. The most romantic thing ever. And Enjolras… Enjolras had given Grantaire gloves.

They were nice gloves, warm and colourful, and Grantaire definitely needed them. But they were still gloves. And it wasn’t even winter.

So now he was determined to make up for that awful gift and do something sweet for his boyfriend’s birthday. The problem was that he had no idea what to do.

He was sitting at the table of Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s place, hands in his hair, while Ferre was on the couch, reading some article about romantic ideas on his computer.

“Watch a romantic film,” Combeferre read out loud.

“Boring.”

“You’re totally right. Cologne?”

“Next.”

“Call in sick and spend the day together instead of going to work.”

Enjolras glanced at his friend. “Is that even legal?

Combeferre smiled. "Like that ever stopped you before."

Enjolras shrugged, face a bit red. "Still, it's not professional of them to suggest it. And I have a ton of work to do, anyway.”

Combeferre dismissed his reasons with a wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, I know. I don’t expect you to do that, don’t worry. Let’s go on.”

“What’s the next thing on that list?”

“Get drunk together - okay, this is obviously a big no.”

“Is there anything useful on that goddamn site?” Enjolras said, frustrated.

“All right, let’s try with another page.”

Enjolras buried his face in his arms while Combeferre searched for another article.

“Oh God,” Combeferre muttered after a moment.

“What? What does it say?”

Combeferre grinned and showed him the screen from the couch. “A pair of warm gloves.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Enjolras cried out.

They were distracted by the sound of the door being opened and closed. Courfeyrac appeared in the living room.

“Am I interrupting something political?” he said, gazing at Enjolras’s distressed expression.

“No. Enj is looking for something cute to do for R’s birthday and I’m trying to help.”

“And failing, it seems,” Courfeyrac said. He took off his jacket and sat beside Combeferre. “I’m not surprised, though. You’re not better than Enjolras at this.”

“Hey!” Combeferre exclaimed with an offended tone. “I’m great at gifts.”

“Yeah, right.”

Combeferre elbowed him, but smiled.

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac continued, bringing his attention back on Enjolras. “If you want something romantic, you should ask Marius. I’m pretty sure he can help you. Unless you want something Romantic with a capital R,” he added, “then you should go to Jehan.”

Enjolras stood up, eyes wide open. “Marius! How did I not think of that?”

 

 

Enjolras was lucky enough to find Marius home. He opened the door with a wide smile and let him in. “Enjolras! To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, while guiding him through the little living room to the terrace, where Cosette was sitting. She got up from her chair to hug him, then asked him the same question Marius had asked him just a moment before.

“Cosette, I’m so happy to find you here,” Enjolras said, and he meant it. If there was someone better than Marius with tooth-rotting stuff, that was Cosette. She was without any doubt the sweetest and most loving girl Enjolras knew. And pretty good with presents, too. “I’m kind of in an emergency and I need your help.”

“Anything serious?” Marius asked, sitting on a chair next to Cosette’s.

“Well, it depends on what you mean by ‘serious’. I - uhm -” He coughed, a little embarrassed. “As you know, it’s gonna be Grantaire’s birthday in a few days and I - well, I wanted to do something special for him, but I’m not good at this type of things.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet, Enj!” Cosette said, her eyes sparkling. “Are you here because you need our help?”

“Well, yeah.”

“You don’t have to worry, my dear Enjolras! You’ve come to the right place. Cosette and I will be more than happy to help you.”

Cosette nodded at her boyfriend’s statement and reached out to grab Enjolras’s hand. “Do you have anything at all in mind?” she asked.

“Not really,” he admitted, with a tired sight. He let go of her hand and leaned on the railing. “For Valentine day he baked a flawless heart-shaped cake. For my birthday he gave me a beautiful painting he made.”

“That’s what he does, he’s a painter,” Marius said.

Enjolras shot him a menacing glance. “It was still very sweet. He put effort in it. And for our anniversary he organised that picnic…”

Cosette clapped her hands at that. “Oh, yes, I remember that! So romantic. What did you give him that time?”

“Don’t make me think about it, please.” Enjolras covered his eyes to hide from the wave of shame that hit him. “That’s the point, anyway. Grantaire knows how to be romantic, while I’m a disaster.”

Cosette walked up to him and put a hand on his arm. “That is not true, Enjolras. You’re just different people. But it’s sweet that you want to try and do something. And we’ll help you. Just let me think. Marius, you got anything?”

He shook his head. “Something symbolic.”

Cosette nodded. “That’s for sure. Maybe you could…” She paused, then continued, “Maybe a framed picture of you two?”

“For Christmas, he made me a book filled with photos of us, of our moments.”

“That damn boy!” Cosette blurted, making Enjolras smile.

After a moment of silence, Marius snapped his fingers. “I know what you could do! You should cook him dinner. Candles and everything.”

Cosette yelled, “Brilliant!” at the same time Enjolras said, “Marius, I can’t cook.” He grimaced at Cosette, but she was glowing. “That’s exactly the reason why it’s a great idea, Enj!”

“Can’t I just buy him dinner?”

“Don’t you get it? The point is that you’re doing something that you struggle to do just for him. It’s what you were saying before, it’s the effort. You’re stepping out of your comfort zone and trying. It’s a great way to show him how much he means to you. Marius, you’re a genius! This is why I love you.” She said the last bit glancing at her boyfriend, who blew her a kiss. The grin on his face made it clear that he was very pleased with himself.

Enjolras wasn’t as sure, but considered the idea anyway. He turned his back to his friends, who were now in full lovebirds-mode, and let his eyes wander over the city silhouette. It was true, it was a symbolic gesture that Grantaire would have appreciated. And he guessed he could at least cook pasta. Maybe.

“Yeah,” he said in the end. “Why not?”

 

 

There were lots of reasons “why not”, Enjolras discovered. He had always considered himself too busy to cook and blamed his poor culinary qualities on the lack of practice, but he started to believe that he was just a hopeless case. Or cursed. Probably cursed, because who can fail with a simple meal? He could, apparently.

In the brief moment of excitement that had followed his visit at Marius’s, he had decided to prepare a spinach savoury tart too. Bad idea.

Enjolras was now in the kitchen of his and Grantaire’s flat with an apron, a pair of kitchen gloves and a burnt tart - and Grantaire was on his way home, it was a matter of minutes.

He dialled Combeferre’s number on his phone and prayed the gods that he would answer. He did.

“Ferre!” Enjolras felt a little better when he heard his friend’s voice, a bit relieved. “Ferre, I’m in trouble.”

Combeferre didn’t even sound surprised when he asked, “What did you do?”

“Remember the dinner I wanted to cook for R’s birthday?”

“Yeah?” He was beginning to sound more worried now. “God, Enjolras, what did you do? Is the house okay?”

“The house is fine. My spinach pie - not so much,” Enjolras said, looking down at his burnt food. Not that it had looked better before putting it in the oven.

“You have something else, don’t you?”

“Pasta?”

“Pasta’s good. Sauce?”

“I’ve bought some tomato sauce.”

“That’s perfect. Classic. Focus on that, all right?”

Enjolras scoffed. “Easy to say! I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve found a tutorial on the internet but I’m not entirely sure I’m doing the right things.”

He heard Combeferre sigh on the other side of the phone. “Remind me of how the hell you managed to survive until now.”

“My parents, you and now Grantaire.”

“Right. Well, just follow my instructions, okay?”

The sound of keys at the door prevented Enjolras from replying. He ended the call without a word and looked around the kitchen to find a place where he could hide the savoury tart, a sense of panic in his chest, but was caught mid-act by Grantaire.

“Enj?” Grantaire said, looking at him with a weird expression on his face, a mix of worry, curiosity and surprise.

Enjolras knew he was a ridiculous sight, with his apron and ruined pie, but tried anyway to play it cool and just said, “Welcome home.”

Grantaire still looked bemused. “What are you doing?” He shifted his gaze from Enjolras to the table and again to Enjolras - and the casserole dish in his hands. “No offence, but I don’t think that’s edible. Wait, are those candles? Oh, God.” His eyes widened as the realisation of what that situation meant hit him. “You made me dinner for my birthday!”

“‘Tried to’ would be the right expression,” Enjolras said, not even bothering to hide the bitterness from his voice.

Grantaire walked up to him and hugged him from behind, careful not to touch the hot pan. “Honey, no, this is so sweet!”

“You don’t have to pretend, you can tell me I’m a mess.”

“I never said you weren’t,” he chuckled. “But, Enj, this is still a great surprise.”

Enjolras put down the savoury tart with a loud sigh. “Yeah, I know. Because I tried and all of that.” He looked at Grantaire in the eye. “But, you know, just for once, I wanted to do something special. And not in a ‘you tried’ sort of way. I wanted to actually be a good boyfriend, like you are.”

Grantaire let go of him. “Like I am?” He sounded doubtful.

“Yes!” Enjolras was aware that his tone was increasing of level, but couldn’t avoid it. “You’re always so fucking sweet and caring. You’re always by my side, but still give me space when I need it. You listen to me. You always know when I’m stressed out and help me relax. You force me to go to bed when I stay up too late, you buy grocery when I forget to. If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t even eat! And you always give me these incredible presents.”

“Presents are not important.”

“But I still like them! I like that you do all these nice things for me.”

“Are you forgetting all the times that I behave like the sarcastic little shit that I am?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I happen to find that endearing too. Annoying, but endearing.”

“I find that hard to believe, but thank you.”

“The point is that I care so deeply about you, and I just wanted to show you. But for real, not with a failed attempt. I wanted to be good too. Though I have to say that I knew this was a bad idea. Why did I do this?”

Grantaire put his hands on Enjolras’s shoulder and planted a kiss on his forehead before watching him in the eye with a serious expression. “It’s not a present that’s going to show me that you care about me. Presents are easy - well, they are for some of us,” he added after Enjolras shot him a dirty look. “Presents… you can just buy them in a shop, and romantic gestures are above all a show. They’re a one-time thing. Yes, they’re nice, but they can’t compete with everyday life. And you’re great at that, E. You’re a workaholic, that’s true, and we disagree on many topics, but you’re there for me, every day. When I do crazy things and have to deal with the consequences. When life gets a bit too tough. And when it’s good, too. You’re a constant, I know I can count on you. And - please, don’t make me say it. I’m realizing now that this is cheesier than intended.”

“No, no, go on. I’m interested.”

“This is so cliché.”

“You know I don’t usually like this type of things, but right now, for some reason, I really want to listen to those words,” Enjolras teased him.

“You already know what I’m going to say, so what’s the use? Spare me, Apollo!”

“But why, I want to hear it.”

“Fine!” Grantaire sighed. “You’re the best gift of all.”

Enjolras smirked. “That was corny.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna throw up now.” They both laughed.

“But no, for real,” Grantaire said. “I love you.”

A familiar, warm sensation spread in Enjolras’s chest. “I love you too.”

Grantaire grinned and leaned in to press a soft kiss on his lips. Enjolras kissed him back, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him tightly. He couldn’t help but smile in the kiss and felt his boyfriend doing the same thing.

After a little while, Grantaire pulled away and said, “By the way, I did need gloves.”

Enjolras groaned. “Can we all stop talking about those gloves, please?”

Grantaire gasped and brought a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended by the statement. “But I love them!”

“Whatever.”

“Anyway, what are you cooking there?” Grantaire said, peering over his shoulder, where the pot was still on the fire.

Enjolras paled. “Oh, God!” He let go of Grantaire and rushed to the burner. “My pasta! I completely forgot about it.” He watched with horror as Grantaire inspected the content of the pot.

Grantaire tasted the pasta, then put down the fork, slowly and with an unreadable face, glanced at Enjolras and said, “I’ll order a pizza.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! If someone actually read this, then thank you. I know it's probably bad, but I needed fluff and so I wrote fluff. Comments are still very welcome, because I want to improve.
> 
> Also, I should mention that English's not my first language, so if I made any mistakes please point them out to me. I don't even have a beta, so...
> 
> Thank you again and happy holidays!


End file.
